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Friday, 29 August 2014

It’s part and parcel of the parenting landscape when you’re
raising a family.

They bicker because not only do they annoy each other, but
they know exactly which buttons to push to annoy each other the most.It’s a talent.As a kid and a sibling.Something you pride yourself on.To have that inherent knowledge of knowing
exactly what to say to trigger your brother or sister.Hopefully both at the same glorious time.

However as a parent, it’s not a talent.

It’s a challenge.And an annoying one at that.

Now I’m sure this happens in most families.And that us, the parents, are victims.

My kids in particular, spend an inordinate amount of time,
parenting one another.Oh joy!

Clearly I’m not doing a good enough job myself.And they feel inclined to step up to the
plate and not only correct one another, but reprimand too.

I know – oh joy!

A few years ago, one of the most often heard refrains in
our home was, “Stop it!”.

Followed by, “Enough!”.

Which inevitably lead to, “I’m telling Mommy!”.

Which was usually counteracted by, “I’m telling Daddy!”.

It was so boring.And it literally drove me up the wall.I even found myself saying to them, “Stop it!It’s enough!I’m telling Daddy!”.

Yip, I run a tight ship.

Anyway, everyone was continually saying “Stop it!”.

So much so, that the word lost all value.It was overused.Abused.Carried no meaning.And held no
weight.

Everyone just simply ignored it.Across the board.In fact, it seemed to encourage them. Leading to more raised tempers, louder voices,
increases in irritability, and even more “Stop it’s!”.

I needed a plan, and fast.

We called a family meeting.And I explained to the kids, that we had reached a point of no
return.“Stop it”, had to stop.Enough already (sorry – had to throw it in
there).

The problem was that people were using the word too
randomly.We needed a word that was
new.That really meant stop it.A word that made everyone freeze in
place.A word that signalled that someone
had reached their breaking point.That
immediate inaction was called for.It
had to be a word that glued their feet to the floor, kept them in place, and
their mouths shut.It was a halt.

And for some or other weird and wonderful reason, I chose
“Pineapple”.Go figure.

It was a word we didn’t use very often.Except in summer salads.And fruit salads too.

It was silly.Would
diffuse the situation.Make everyone
freeze, and give all of us that moment to just be quiet and listen.

It was supposed to be special.And effective.

And to be fair, it worked for quite a while.Actually, it worked like a bomb.It made them stop fighting in the car.Over who’s turn it was to shower first.Who would have to open the gate.Who had to pour water with our supper.

It wasn’t rude.We
could use it anywhere.And it certainly
had the desired effect.

Until one fine day, when I looked at my family in a moment
of reflection and pondered about the verbal “Pineapples!” being flung around by
all.

And realised the sad truth – it had replaced, “Stop it!”.

With time “Pineapple” faded.And “Stop it!” returned.Yet the sting felt gone.Or I became numb.

Years later, every so often one of them shouts, “Pineapple”
in a moment of extreme sibling duress, strife and stress.

And it still makes me smile.

These are the silly little memories, I’ll hold dear one
day.When they’re all big and gone.

And with a wee bit of luck, they’ll remember it too.And reminisce to their kids, about their
childhood.And their funny Mom.

Or perhaps given time, and the experience of parenthood,
they’ll completely understand.And harness
the Pineapple-Power too.

Wednesday, 27 August 2014

I am known to giggle at times.Unfortunately, mostly at inappropriate
times.Brought on by inappropriate
things.

This is a problem.

Bouts of giggling are usually precipitated by an extreme
case of nerves.Or funny things.Uh, duh!!!Funny things - it goes without saying.

But perhaps the problem lies in the particulars of my sense
of humour.Odd things amuse me.

And let’s be honest – the world is filled with odd
things.And odd people.

Someone once sent me a pic of a woman with a terrible
condition (I’m not known to laugh at people with disabilities or hardships, but
this took my surprise and the caption was VERY FUNNY), which meant that she
practically had a prolapsed chin.Or
maybe it’s a collapsed chin.Basically no
chin to mention at all.And the caption
of the photo was, “How does she fold towels?”.

I laughed for days.Days, I tell you!More-over, I
even laughed at night.I’d get up to go
to the loo, and burst out laughing again.Immediately grabbing my phone, to check if it was really that
funny.Only to see the pic, and collapse
into gales of giggles again.Waking my
husband (he did not find it funny).This
continued for many, many days and nights.I still laugh when I see it.My
daughter has asked if she can load the pic onto her phone, so that if I’m ever
annoyed at her, she can flash me the photo.A sure fire guaranteed way to distract me and get her out of
trouble.Rather clever.

But laughter of this manner, is okay.I can indulge privately.On my own time.It is provoked by something that is obviously
humorous.

However, it’s that inappropriately timed laughter that
usually gets me into trouble.

As a Matric student, with a passion for the piano, friends
of my folks once arranged very expensive, zhooshy tickets for us to go and
watch the symphony orchestra.A great
treat.The musicians were spectacular
and super talented.The ambience of the
theatre, with patrons all dressed up, was incredible.The music was phenomenal.Everything about the evening was magical and
majestic.It was by all accounts a very,
very grand and stately affair.Sedate.Grown-up.

But unfortunately, there was a very theatrical solo
violinist.Who made her stage debut in
the very first song.And that was
it.Done.Over.Uncontrollable.

It was the first smart event Grant and I ever went to as a
couple.We dressed up and the whole
toot.But by the first dramatic
upstroke, Grant and I were toast.We did
not stop the entire concert through.Song after song, we collapsed.The difficulty being that we had to be quiet.Not distract other patrons.Not offend our hosts.Not make a peep.

I leant forward and put my head between my knees.My shoulders were shaking.And I thought I would burst.My mom kept on giving me evil looks.I would just barely get it under control, and
the violinist would start up again, or I’d see Grant’s shaking shoulders out of
the corner of my eyes.We were
horrid!We still speak about it to this
day.During the interval, my mom wisely
separated us.Ensuring we didn’t sit
together, so that we wouldn’t trigger each other.But alas it didn’t work.We were both a goner.My mom was mortified!

Then there was the time Grant and I, as well as a school
friend went to the movies together.I
was also in matric.For the life of me,
I can’t remember what we went to see.But all that I do remember, was during the previews before the show, the
guy next to me broke his seat.Well,
perhaps he didn’t really break it on purpose.It was just his time.Or the
chair’s time.Still, there was a really
loud thwack, during a very quiet moment.And when I glanced over at him, he was sitting with his bum on the
floor, but his arms still raised upright on the arm rests.And there he uncomfortably remained for the
remainder of the movie.Once again, I
had it really bad.Hence I can’t
remember what we went to watch.What I
do recall though is the end of the movie.Walking out of the theatre, and the guy being right behind me, tapping
me on my shoulder and saying, “You can stop laughing now”.I.Nearly.Died.Still, it made me laugh even harder.

However nothing can ever compare to getting the giggles
during a funeral.I kid you not.In addition, it wasn’t just me.But most of the rather large Lombard family.We’re not so much a family as a tribe.There are loads of us.

Someone really special died.And we not only cared about this family
friend, but we cared about the family he left behind.In fact we were terribly heart sore for
them.It was a very sombre, sad
occasion.The church was absolutely
packed to the rafters.And somehow we
found ourselves sitting in the very front.The problem came in though, when it became obvious that it was a very
evangelical and charismatic church.And
one lady in particular, was extremely vocal.Loudly.Exuberantly.Which is all fair and well.No judgement whatsoever.No mocking intended.It was just unexpected.And unanticipated.

The first time she shouted affirmations, it was so
surprising, that someone giggled softly.And just like that, it was an epidemic.Unstoppable.Right across the
family it came in wave upon wave.The
funeral was a rather lengthy one.And
this passionate lady gave it stick.We
would barely get it under control, and she would start up again.

My brother, sister and I, are known to laugh and giggle a
lot when we’re together.Even at the
best of times we trigger one another.On
this occasion, our predisposition to laughter was not a good thing.My mom poked me in the back a few times.I would imagine she prodded my brother and
sister too.Our shoulders were
shaking.At times we were spluttering.I could feel my face glowing, and my eyes
watering.Convinced I was going to
spontaneously combust.

We were not trying to be disrespectful.We weren’t any less heart sore.

We were just sad.And having the giggles.At the same glorious time.

Laughter is always a very good stress reliever.Though timing is everything.

This still gets my every time - poor girl. Absolutely dreadful. And had I seen the photo, minus the caption, I would have been horrified and felt terribly sorry for her. But the caption killed it for me. I still feel awful for her. And I'm not really laughing at her. Just the choice phrasing. Which cracks me up every single time.

Monday, 25 August 2014

So it would appear as though certain sayings have an age
limit. Like a maturity or advanced years statute of
limitations.A cut-off point. Too old to utter.

How rude!

I remember being a teenager, and occasionally hearing my
mom or dad uttering a teenage word.And being
utterly horrified.Mortified!How dare they?Some words weren’t meant for them!Didn’t they have enough big-people’s words of
their own?Teenage words were off
limit.They weren’t eligible for use
thereof.They were far too old to use
them.To uncool.Too parent-like.

Words like “kiff” or “lank” sounded odd coming out of the
mouths of adults. Like it didn’t
belong.

Because it didn’t.

And somehow I now find myself on the other side of the same
divide.My kids have a lingo all of
their own.

But there is a slight difference.

Surely I’m not too old.To uncool.Too parent-like…

Eish!Growing up and
acting like an adult is hard to do.

The thing is this – when we were “cool teenagers”, our
folks only heard our language from us.And
usually we were clever enough to not give away our lingo in front of them.We nestled it close, like treasures.Usually reserving it for our “lank kiff”
peers and friends.

But now things are different.Social media has changed language and the way
we use it.Texting, Facebook, WhatsApp,
the Internet, TV, etc.

Now I know we had TV way back then, in the dark ages.But TV times have changed.A lot.

So, sadly for my kids, without them teaching me, I know
their language.In fact, I can’t escape
knowledge thereof.

And thus, being a bit wicked at times, I indulge.Purely to freak them out.

It is such fun.

It is most fun, when you do it in front of a friend, and
you really embarrass them.Cause if you
haven’t got an audience, what’s the point?And a fresh audience at that.Making
a kid cringe, is one of the few free pleasures in life.

So I put my little theory to the test on Friday night, when
I picked up Amber and two friends (one was a boy – her romantic interest) from
a social gathering.Shame.They were sitting ducks.And lames ones at that.

I started off slow – easing my way into it, saying stuff
like, “Did you have a totes adorbs night?”As well as “Awe”, when they got into the car.Thrown in with a bit of “cray-cray”.

However, by the time I pulled out, “You’re so jelly”, Amber
was howling.

And I can positively confirm – it’s so much nicer being on
this side of the fence.Way more fun!

Friday, 22 August 2014

Right, so eyebrows.With
a wee bit of luck, we all have them.If
you’re really lucky, you’ll have two!

In fact, most of us have them.At least at some or other point in time.

But, as we get older, eyebrows can tend to thin.It happens.

However natural eyebrow thinning due to advanced age or
hair loss is one thing.Careful meticulous
plucking is another.

Because scary as super thin eyebrows may be, they have
nothing on bushy caterpillar wanna-bees.Personally I think that Fernando Alonso has a black hairy caterpillar
above each eye.A little bit of trimming
and shaping, by a qualified professional, is a good thing.Giving shape and definition.

Unfortunately, this is where it all goes wrong for some
people.They find themselves in that
dark and scary place – they’ve either plucked too much, weirdly, or applied
incorrect use of eyeliner to create the appearance of eyebrows.

These little puppies are really interesting.

Personally, I’m always on the look-out for the
uni-brow.The uni-brow is a perfectly
legitimate reason to pluck and pull.In fact,
it’s pretty much mandatory.Unless you
would like to remain single for the rest of your life.Each to their own.For me it would be a deal breaker.I mean, just picture Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp
with a uni-brow.It quite simply wouldn’t
work.Captain Jack Zero.Not Sparrow.And there’s no way Brad would’ve managed to pull Angelina if he had a
uni-brow.

But it would appear that this whole obsession with eyebrows
thing, is kinda global.And not just me.

KFM radio station, put together a little selection of some
of the very best of the very worst eyebrows around.Most of them manufactured by the untrained
hand.

The unskilled.

Though judging by many of the confident looks these
individuals are sporting in their photos, I’m thinking that they think they
rock it.That they look pretty hot.Bringing their A-game.

Right - so I'm surmising that the girl on the left, took a ruler to do hers. And the girl on the left decided to. To... To... Actually I'm not sure what she was trying to do.

Hoop girl on the left looks like hers are a tat, and dot-dot-dot girl on the right clearly ran out of ink. Or eyeliner. Or khoki. Or permanent marker.

I'm thinking that the girl on the left is a maths boff. And is a huge fan of long division. Don't believe me? Just check out her whybrows! She's all about eye divided by nose equals pink lips. Girl on the right can't do long division. She can only subtract...

These are the thinnest widest apart eyebrows ever. Girl on the left, that is. Girl on the right is actually a fan of the uni-brow. And maybe waves.

Now I'm not entirely sure, but I'm thinking that both of these ladies had their two year old kids do their eyebrows. Also, they both have serious circus ambitions.

My only explanation here, is that the girl in the orange tried to draw a moustache. Upside down. And then she kind of forgot where a moustache goes. Hey, it can happen. The girl on the right, well she... she... she...

Now I've heard of pencil thin. And I'm sure you have too. Girl on the right sports pencil thin eyebrows. The girl top left also has circus dreams. The girl bottom left is confused.

The first rule is outline. Don't go over the lines. Only fill in once you're confident you won't go over the lines. And when in doubt, create a uni-brow.

Thursday, 21 August 2014

We’ve all heard to the old real estate adage – location,
location, location.

Now presumably, this does not only apply to buying a
home.It stands equally true, for retail
shops, businesses, factories, offices, etc.

So, let’s assume, that you’re into sales.You need to look at your target market
demographically.Who are they?What are their ages?Where do they congregate?What are their needs?What can you supply them with?What are their habits?What is their budget?Their socio-economic status?What do they need?

I reckon you can tackle the problem from two angles.From a retail point of you, you either start
off with a product you believe in, and that you need to move, and then you look
at your market, and try and make a match between product first, and customer
later.Or, alternatively, you start off
with a gap in the market or easily identifiable client base, and you come up
with a solution, to fill a need they don’t even necessarily know that they
have.A product you can supply to
them.Hence customer first, and product
later.

It’s the classic equation of supply and demand.And it’s as old as the hills.Maybe even before that.It is the basis of all successful financial
models, leading to true fiscal success.

However, you don’t need a degree or two in economics to
grasp this principle.Even a child can
understand this.Or, more importantly, a
child’s parents.

So, take a thirteen year old little girl.A Girl Scout, no less.And we all know that they have this thing for
selling cookies.A fund raising
initiative I assume.Most likely it gets
hell of a competitive.And the kids are
each given an allotted amount of cookies they have to sell.Sort of target setting if you like.Classic sales incentive.Perhaps one of those
sell-the-most-cookies-and-you-get-a-really-cool-badge-for-your-shirt, or
campfire blankie.They do that kind of
thing.Been there done that – had three
kids that did cubs, and even one that ventured into scouts.I have to wonder how many parents simply end
up buying the whole lot for themselves.Way easier than traipsing around, door to door, pawning them off on to
your neighbours and family members.

But then, we got an out-of-the-box-thinker.Yip, our entrepreneurial thirteen year old.

I would like to assume that she chose her location on the
behest of her parents.And that she
didn’t just have this random knowledge on her own.

She set up shop, outside a legalised Pot-Shop in
Colorado.I swear!

The little cherub supposedly sold 117 boxes in two
hours.So I’m thinking – a huge influx
of happy customers left the Pot-Shop, sporting a monster case of the
munchies.Clever girl.

But the universe has a very odd sense of humour.And I love her for it.To cure my boring regularity, she gave me
Cole.

My delightfully “loskop” kid.And I can’t quite put my finger on it.Did I get him, because the powers that be
knew that I needed someone to loosen me up?Or did the powers that be give me to him, so that he would always have
someone to look after him?

Whatever the cause, we have a definite symbiotic
relationship.

A large part of my function as his mother, is to remind him
about things.And look for his
stuff.Cause remembering his own stuff
is way too boring and mundane for him.He’s got more exciting things to think about.

His current obsession is paper airplanes.He’s obsessed.He makes them from anything and
everything.In all different sizes and
shapes.On all different papers.From newsprint, to folio’s, magazines, to
cardboard.He decorates them, times their
flights, lengthily discusses their trajectory with anyone willing to listen,
selects suitable launching pads, measures flight distance covered, etc.His room looks like a paper tip.And woe betide you if you throw one
away.He’s even taken to enormous
flights of fancy – huge A3 sheets of paper, sellotaped and glued together, to
make monstrously big planes, that are aeronautically impossible to ever take
flight.Still, this is his flavour of
the moment.

The downside of the way that Cole’s brain works, is that he
simply doesn’t have space inside there for arbitrary things.Like bringing his school bag home from
school.Collecting his lunch box after
break.Picking up his shoes after sports
practice.

It is a challenge.Mostly
for me.He’s not concerned at all.That’s my job.

Monday last week saw him coming home without his school
shoes.Well, he had hockey after school,
so he got changed in the changing rooms, and most likely left them there.Luckily in preparation of eventualities just
like this, he has two pairs.On Tuesday
he came home without his school sweater.Luckily in preparation of eventualities just like this, he has more than
one sweater.On Wednesday evening I got
a phone call from another mom, saying that they had picked his PT vest up on
the sports field after school that afternoon.Luckily in preparation of eventualities…..This was just a regular week.Nothing out of the ordinary.Amazingly all the bits eventually found their
way home.More by luck than
anything.The grace and kindness of
others.

The only reason that Thursday and Friday afternoon didn’t
yield a similar something-left-behind-or-lost-surprise, was because he went off
on a three day sports tour to Oudtshoorn.Anything sent off with Cole on camp or tour, is an act of faith.As we might never see it again.

I dutifully marked every single item of clothing and
sporting equipment.Being familiar with
his pattern.The hope being that when he
left something behind, someone else might pick it up and hand it in to a
teacher.It was not an “if”.It was a definite “when”.However, I decided to draw the line.Jocks and socks were left unmarked.If lost, I would write it off to collateral
damage.A casualty of war.It certainly wasn’t worth my time.Or the cost of the khoki I would ruin and dry
out in the process.High ticket items
were marked in more than one spot.Extremely well.I’ve learnt the
hard way.

When he came back on Sunday, a few things were clear.I firstly checked whether his most prized
possession made it home.Happy to report
that he is still the owner of Princess A5 hockey stick.It is his pride and joy, and for the first
few weeks after getting it, he slept with it every night.Secondly I checked for his hockey togs and
school shoes.Though we have doubles of
both, it would be awesome to continue having doubles of both.Huge was my surprise, when I found two pairs
of matching shoes – togs and school.Oh
happy day!Next I unpacked the clothing
bag, and the next obvious thing jumped out at me.He wore the same jocks, pants, shirts, socks,
and sweater the entire tour.They
practically stood up on their own.Though I am not unfamiliar with this boy pattern.Cole is of course not my first boy child to
go off on tour or camp.I’m not even
entirely sure he thought of turning the jocks inside out for alternate
days.So I saved a heap on washing.Though the limited dirty laundry he did bring
home, had to be washed more than once.

I wasn’t sure if he had left anything behind.But all the bits and pieces appeared to be
there.However by Sunday I got a message
from a mom saying that she had Cole’s school sweater (never even noticed it was
gone), and that she would deliver it laundered and clean at school the next
day.On Monday morning, when I was
hanging up the washing, I found a friend’s school shorts in our wash.So I’m assuming Cole’s pair is floating out
there somewhere.

All in all, he had a lovely tour.Though for their fun outing on Saturday
afternoon to Wilgewandel holiday farm, he left the pocket money I had sent with
at his room in the hotel.Not all that
surprising.It was the whole reason he
had pocket money in the first place.Luckily part of the package was a go on most of the activities on the
farm.But kids could buy extra rides,
attractions and snacks with their own dosh.Still Cole did quite well.A
friend paid for a Camel ride for Cole and his latest love.Not quite a horse and carriage, but
still.Bet it was pretty impressive.

All I’m saying is that it’s just as well his bits are
attached.Cause if it wasn’t for that,
he’d lose those too.

PS:Yesterday
afternoon saw him coming home without his maths book for homework.Wondering what missing item this afternoon
will yield…Or rather not yield.

So a few hours have passed, and this is what I can
report.Fetched him from school in the
driving rain – minus his school sweater.Luckily in preparation of eventualities like these…And big surprise – no Maths book either.His homework is supposedly complete.Right!

Friday, 15 August 2014

Right!So unwanted
attention from men can be painful.And
annoying.Especially if you’re not in
the market for attention, that is.

Worst case scenario, it can be dangerous.

But fear not – the ever-entrepreneurial Chinese have come
to our rescue.With the most stupid
invention ever.

Hairy leg stockings.

I kid you not.Seriously!!!

As inventions go, I personally think it is a stellar
example of idiocy.

And I can’t imagine there being a huge demand, nor market
for these stockings.

We live in a world, where appearances are everything.Vanity is all important.And people pay large amounts of money to look
their best.The women of the species in
particular.They diet.The pluck.They wax.They make-up.They wear extraordinary painful outfits at
time, because the look the part.They
squeeze their feet into high heeled shoes.They wear thongs.

So the whole hairy-leg-stocking-thing leaves me a bit
baffled.

Supposedly it is ideal to wear when travelling on public
transport.Trains, busses and
subways.Which is apparently where the
men in China are obviously stalking their prey.If the stocking manufacturers are to be believed.

I can’t imagine many young nor old women, venturing out in
a pair of these bad boys.Firstly, you’d
have to wear closed shoes with your stockings, so your hairless feet don’t
betray you.Secondly, the assumption is
that they’d match anything you own.Or
perhaps that’s the point and it shouldn’t.

The downfall of this little plan for the single ladies, is
though they may supposedly be a bit more safe sporting the hairy wonders, they
certainly won’t fall prey to handsome single young men either.

Perhaps the answer to unwanted attention from men, should
be a bit more subtle and less obvious.

Like a tazor gun.Or
bullet spray.

The last time some guy was staring at me lustfully, and he
sidled over to me and said, “So where have you been my whole life?” (I swear –
that was his line).

I smiled at him sweetly, looked him in the eye, and said,
“With my husband”.

Thursday, 14 August 2014

It is a well-documented fact, that my sister has an extreme
fear of dentists.

No, I don’t think you understand.Extreme.

Now to be fair, as a profession, dentists are generally not
all that well liked.Which hardly seems
fair to them.

They don’t hurt people on purpose.In fact, in order to prevent hurting people,
they give them an injection, that anaesthetises them.Minimising pain.

In addition, they’re usually kind enough to wait before
commencing with drilling work, until the drugs have kicked in and your mouth is
blessedly numb.

So do they deserve all this bad press?All this paranoia?

Well, yes.

I’ve got my own theory.It’s not so much the pain, as the creepy noises when they’re drilling
away and working.The awkward conversation
they’re trying to make, while you’ve got a spit-sucker and numerous dental
equipment in your mouth, and you can’t answer back properly.The dentist smell.The silly little pictures on the ceiling, or
the mobiles they have dangling from the roof.The stomach churning you experience in the waiting room, listening to
someone else having some work done in the chair.The stupid little cups, with mouth wash, that
you end up dribbling down your chin.That idiotic fat-tongue feeling afterwards.For me there’s definitely a correlation
between the fat-ness of my tongue and my IQ.The fatter and clumsier my tongue feels, the more intellectually
challenged I become.And act.

Yes, so it’s perfectly clear – I’m not really a dentist fan
per se.Or should I say, either.

Yet, I don’t have the whole irrational fear thing going for
me.I mentally take a slice of time, the
bit while I’ll be at the dentist, and I put it in a bubble.I remove my body from my brain, disconnect,
and simply get on with it.I don’t think
about it before the time.And to be honest,
I’m never really hurt at the dentist.Actually I rather like my dentist a lot.She’s kind and gentle.And she
understands my garbled talking while I’ve got the spit-sucker and dental
equipment in my mouth.I’m guessing that
learning how to really listen to people with speech impediments, forms a large
part of dental training and school.

But my sister, Katrine?Well, she takes dentist-fear to a whole new level.

She cries when she makes the appointment.A few times.Usually over the phone to the receptionist.Then in remembrance of having made the
appointment, she cries.Numerous
times.Dread fills her stomach and wets
her palms.

The day before an appointment is usually the worst.For her and her family.She’ll break down a few times.Crying intermittently.But by now, her family understands.Her husband and kids humour her.Tease her.Yet treat her with empathy and kindness at the same time.

The drive to the dentist is interspersed with tears.And she normally succumbs to a fresh outburst
of tears, upon entering the reception area.Often blubbering on the shoulder of the receptionist.

I remember when she had to have her wisdom teeth
removed.She came to stay with us, and I
took her and fetched her from the dentist, and was basically there to hold her
hand and calm her down.We had reason to
phone the dentist’s rooms before the removal, just to double check some or
other detail.Can’t quite remember
what.But we needed to ask the dentist
something about the painkillers she had to use, or something like that.And upon explaining our need to get some
info, the receptionist put her hand over the telephone receiver and told the
dentist in a loud stage whisper, “It’s Mrs Auld – the one that cries so much”.True story.

Part of Katrine’s process in between crying, is indulging
in excited and fast nervous chatter.Talking about anything and everything.Usually too fast.Not making all
that much sense.I believe adrenaline
kicks in and she powers on, on pure hysteria.Hoping that the sound of her own voice will calm her down.It doesn’t work.

While over in England, she had cause to go to the dentist
again.A familiar dentist, she’d used
before.

She followed her usual pattern.Tears.Anxiety.Stress.Fear.Nervous chatter.

And then, in an effort to calm her nerves before her
appointment, she decided to go down to the municipal pool with her daughter,
for a swim.She assumed it would be both
relaxing and distracting.

However, she got water in her ear.And couldn’t hear a blessed thing.Now she’s pretty deaf at the best of
times.Having water in her ear, simply
amplified (very funny), the problem.

I think she just felt off kilter.And terribly out of sorts.Not in control.

Now she’d heard this old wives story about getting water
out of your ear.Supposedly the density
of alcohol is different than the density of water.Which would help to burst the water bubble
trapped in your ear, leaving you water-free once more and able to hear
perfectly.

And so, mere minutes before leaving for the dentist, she
asked her stepson Cory, to quickly give her a hand.The first liquor she grabbed hold of was a
bottle of Gin.Cory happily obliged,
tipped a bit in her ear, and I’m assuming didn’t spill too much in the process.

However, marvellous though this plan seemed on paper, it
didn’t work.The water was still in her
ear.She still couldn’t hear.She was still crying.She was still scared.She still chattered nervously and way too fast.

And now she stank of alcohol too.

I believe she cried in reception when she got there.Cried in the chair, when it was finally her
turn.Kept on saying pardon, cause she
couldn’t hear.Kept on giggling
nervously in between.

She was mortified when she realised that the dentist must
think she’s really odd.Apart from the
crying and babbling that is.And then
she tried to explain why she reeked of alcohol.

“I’ve got some Gin in my ear.”

I believe he gave her a very, very odd look.Most likely mentally making a note, “Sure she’s
a young mother – must remember to phone Health and Safety.She doesn’t sound all that stable.”

Recognising his very strange look, Katrine then compounded
it by waving her arms around, pointing at her ears, and saying, “I’ll take it
any way I can get it.Just shove it in.”Yes, that would be the nervous chatter I told
you about.

I’m surmising that by this stage he was visualising rehab
at the very least.

However, I suppose on some level, he was rather used to her
by now.Having lived through more than
one consultation before.

She eventually joined the dots between the reeking of
alcohol, the wild gesticulating, the odd expression, the tears, the excessive
chatting, and the bubbling too.

And upon explaining the situation to him properly, he burst
out laughing.And thought it was very,
very funny.

Which
I believe in turn made him question not only her dental health, but her mental
health too.